His Hands Shake
by therealmnemo
Summary: Carver Hawke sits in Kirkwall, fighting a lyrium addiction and lyrium supplies are running thin.. even when your friends are the Viscount and the Captain of the Guard. Hope comes in the form of a friend in Lothering.


His hands shake.

He sits in the Gallows, but it's not called that anymore.

Long after the fires cooled and revolutionaries fled, long after Kirkwall began to rebuild, Guard Captain Aveline had moved the patrol barracks and the offices of the Viscount to the stone fortress that once held the source of conflict in the City of Chains.

This used to be Meredith's office, he thinks to himself. How many times had he watched his sister file in and out of this office? How many times had he shaken his head while she walked around openly, proudly, with her apostate friends and their father's staff present in her hands? He sacrificed his life to keep her safe, to keep the Templars off her back.

Every drop of lyrium in his system is a reminder. The Circle is gone, the Templars disbanded, there are rumors that a new order of Seekers train outside Nevarra. He should be there.

Instead I am here.

His hands shake.

Aveline spent the better part of the morning in the 'Office of the Viscount', or at least that's what Varric insisted the Hanged Man be called these days. Varric had spent the past two years helping her rebuild Kirkwall. Not in reconstruction of Hightown, or moving the Chantry into the old Viscount's Keep, but bringing the heart of Kirkwall back. The people needed a leader that cared, and Varric cared. It was just a shame he would rather regale the bar with extravagant tales than review trade agreements.

"She's coming home this week, Varric. She can't see him like this," she spoke softly, more to the mug of ale in front of her that to the dwarf himself.

She studied the dwarf while he ran a finger along handle of his own mug, his other hand on Bianca, fingers drumming a staccato beat as his brow furrowed in thought.

"I've sent for him to meet with me this afternoon, to let him know," she paused, preparing for the impending argument, "We have to do something, Varric! Even your own contacts for lyrium have run dry, he's rationed as much as he can! He's going to go insane!"

Varric scowled. Aveline noticed that even though the city continued to heal, the dwarf seemed to wear the foreign expression often.

"Let him know she's coming, Aveline. I'm going to write a few letters." He stood, pushing his ale aside and reached for his quill and parchment.

"Make sure you bring Daisy with you."

Merrill slipped into Aveline's office, catching Carver's eye while his nervously twisted his hands. He continued to pace in front of the Guard Captain's desk, no longer content to sit patiently. He felt the warm rush of relief when she crossed the room and threw her arms around him. Carver wrapped an arm around her waist, while his free hand pulled her head to his chest. He carefully kissed the crown of her head, trying to keep his hand from tangling her long black hair as it shook. He dropped his head to whisper in her ear when Aveline entered the room.

"Carver, thank you for meeting me this afternoon." Aveline motioned to the chairs in front of her desk. She leaned against her desk, running a gauntleted hand through her shorn red hair before meeting Carver's eyes directly.

"Hawke will be arriving this week. Fenris sent a letter ahead from Weisshaupt letting us know." She watched Carver closely, his eyes not betraying anything. "She's decided to multiply apparently, so fair warning."

Carver's gut tightened. He thought of his mother, his sister, his father. Marian was all he had left. Their makeshift family of Kirkwall misfits were scattered across Thedas. He feared that when he finally lost his mind, she would be left alone in this world. He reached for Merrill's hand, squeezing tightly once her slender hand rested in his own.

"What does this mean for me, Aveline? You called me here to let me know my sister returns! What happens when she comes home to find her brother on the edge of madness? I have two phials left. TWO."

A small whimper from his side alerted him to the anger that turned his body rigid. He quickly released Merrill's hand, face flush with shame. The shaking that plagued his hands now wracked his body. He was weak, addicted, a danger to everyone around him.

Aveline let her eyes drift briefly to the greatsword that hung in the corner of her office. Carver brought it to her months ago, shortly after he began rationing his lyrium. She tried to talk him out of it, as his friend. As Guard Captain, she knew it was the safest thing to do.

"Varric seems to have a plan. He sent out a few ravens this afternoon, and now you're as up to date on that plan as I am." She walked around her desk to stand directly in front of the sullen couple. Merrill now had Carver's hands in her own, kissing each knuckle with reverence as they shook.  
"Hawke will know what to do, Carver," Merrill whispered to his hands. Her large doe-eyes looked up with the love she held for him. "Hawke and Varric will find a way."

Two days later, with one phial left at home on his desk, he found her standing in front of the Chantry memorial. The burning wreckage had been razed, in it's place was a memorial to those lost in the Chantry explosion. Hawke looked up at her face in stone. Varric knew he should have removed it before she returned, but the city was determined to memorialize their Champion once more.

Carver watched as she walked down the row of statues. Flanking her own statue were the likenesses of Aveline, Varric and himself. How fitting that the group that started everything that brought the city to it's knees would be revered as their saviours.

She looked older, tired. Varric had filled him in on the details of her time in the Inquisition. One to never leave out the details, he strangely left out the ones associated with her time in the Fade. Her short black hair now fell to her waist, braided as an afterthought. If not for what looked like a contraband melon under her tunic, her pregnancy took no other toll on her body that was not already there.

The Arishok impaled her on his sword many years ago, that she carries a child at all is a miracle.

Hawke finally stopped in front of a small plot in the back corner of the cemetery and fell to her knees. The grave of their mother was sectioned off from the rest. Leandra was both an Amell and the mother of the Champion of Kirkwall, she practically became its patron saint.

Carver took this moment to approach. Marian sat silently, but turned her head slightly towards his footsteps. He eased down to the ground, not quite sure where to begin. She started to reach out to place a hand on his shoulder, but it hung in the air instead. An unasked question. How do you start a conversation after six years, especially when you never even said goodbye?

He looks to his shaking hands. He can't will them to still anymore.

Cullen sat at his desk, his head in his hands. Varric's letter sat unfolded on top of the records he kept of the former Templars in his keeping. Somewhere in the six years since Kirkwall, Carver had slipped from his memory. Hawke didn't mention him when she served the Inquisition. Aveline made him stay behind when Cullen left Kirkwall with the Left and Right Hands of the Divine.

It was suddenly far too warm in his office, and he abandoned his desk to walk to the Chantry garden. Lelia- the Divine had granted him the former Chantry lands of Lothering. Here, on these hallowed grounds, he built a home for former Templars. The Inquisitor Adaar, without him Cullen would still be strung out on lyrium. It was with Adaar and Cassandra's support that kept him from begging in the streets after the rifts in the sky closed for good.

His own success in overcoming his lyrium addiction gave him hope. He wanted to give every former Templar the chance to cut the leash the Chantry placed on them. What he didn't expect was that he could not help them all.

Samson succumbed to his addiction first. He followed Cullen to this 'glorified retirement home' after the Inquisition disbanded. Cullen tried to wean him off of the lyrium, trying everything possible for a man who made a wrong decision that ruined his life. The night Cullen put the blade to Samson's throat, he asked for it. He deserved better, they all did.

After Samson, Cullen worked with the Divine in making a medication that would nullify the pain. In large enough doses, the former Templars would simply fall asleep and never wake again. Thankfully, only two men currently took the medication. The rest of his charges battle nightmares, headaches, and loss of memory. When they become violent, a pair of their brothers will take them to the river behind the chantry to cool them down.

Will Carver fit in here? The Carver he knew was practically a child. An unhappy brat living in the shadow of a famous sibling, his mother killed by a blood mage.

No worse than the monster I almost became. Carver stood with Cullen when he faced down Meredith in the courtyard of the Viscount. Carver helped clear the wreckage of the Chantry and look for survivors. Carver spent weeks in the alienage with Merrill, working to improve the lives of the elves and the poor in Darktown.

He owed this to Carver, he deserved the same second chance they all did.

The silence in the Hanged Man haunted Carver. Around the table they sat: Varric nursing an ale while stroking Bianca, Aveline deep in conversation with both Donnic and Fenris about the recent bands of slavers in the woods, Merrill bent over with an ear and hands to Hawke's swollen body, and Carver doing his best to get his ale to his lips without spilling it. His lyrium ran out last week. This morose 'party' is now a weekly tradition to keep his morale high. He feels like a burden.

The door to the bar opened with bang. Seven sets of eyes landed on a ridiculous Admiral hat.

"What?!" Isabella cocked her hip to the side and reached up to pat her hat proudly. She smirked at the somber party and she sauntered to the table. "I come bearing letter for Varric, a thirst for some ale, and a warm bed. Preferably already occupied."

When Varric quickly sprung from his chair to grab the letter from her hand without his normal friendly banter she quirked a brow, "Alright, who died? OUCH!"

Hawke's hand pinched Isabela's thigh a second time. "Go get some ale Izzie, let Varric read that letter and we'll get caught up."

Izzie shrugged and walked to the bar while Varric quickly read over the letter in his grasp. His concerned look melted in what could almost be mistaken for relief. "There's room. Hawke, Carver, Curly says there's room!"

Hawke's eyes teared up and cupped her hand to her mouth. Fenris rested his hand on her shoulder, looking to Carver. Merrill was now in Carver's lap, holding him close and crying softly in his hair. Carver reached out a shaking hand to his sister, which she took and squeezed tightly.

Izzie slid into the empty chair beside Aveline and Donnic and took a long drink from her ale. "You all have some explaining to do. I'm not going back to the sea until I hear it."

Carver sits in the Chantry garden, bundled in furs. His first six months at the Lothering retreat passed with only a few small issues. The first, an argument with Cullen over the schedule of lyrium rationing. The second, another argument with Cullen over when he could finally have visitors. Carver blamed himself for the last incident.

Cullen scheduled an appointment for Carver with the travelling healer that frequented the retreat. As soon as he entered the room, his hands were filled with feathers as he held a struggling mage against the wall of the Chantry. Anders' shocked expression seared into his memory as Cullen pulled him off. The mage explained that with the Divine squarely on the side of the mages now, he's now dedicating the remainder of his short life to healing those in need.

Anders never let anyone know that the Templar retreat was the only place he visited now. He heard the Calling when the rifts first opened, but instead of looking for his death, he seeks his penance by keeping his former adversaries alive.

Carver shakes the memory from his mind as the snow falls around him. His visitors are coming today. He hears the doors to the chantry open behind him and a small infant wails into the calm evening. Merrill and his sister make their way out to the garden.

His eyes are clear when Marian hugs him close, barely closing her arms around him since his weight finally returned. Not content to wait her turn, Merrill wraps her arms around the siblings, kissing both of their uncovered faces.

His hands are shaking and he smiles. It's only the cold that shakes them now.


End file.
